Magic Dust of the Infamous
by Zeech
Summary: After Doc was shot near the borders of Mexico by John W. Poe the Kid and his remaining gang escape to Santa Fe. Unwilling to leave their friend behind in a New Mexican hospital, the gang waits in the home of a wealthy actress for Doc to heal.
1. I

**Magic Dust (of the Infamous)**

**Febuary 13th, 1882**

Andrew Gomery's eyes widened to the size of saucers when the young woman scribbled her name down on the visitor record sheet, not bothering to be careful with the superfluously flowing, ink and making deep scratches in the yellow paper. Her deliberate movements implied anger, but it soared over Andrew's half-empty head. "Well hell - you're Joanna Charleston!"

"That's what it says." She pushed her dark hair back from her face, and she regarded him with impatiently raised brows, nearly staring down her nose at the young man before her. This woman seemed like the Joanna Charleston type: independent, prompt and sickeningly aware of the power they held over men. Andrew only stared back with a delighted grin. "I'm here to see the boys. The Kid's Regulators."

"You're in luck, missus, until today visitation rights was off." Andrew replied, leaning over so that his palm supported his heavily resting chin and his grin stretched across his face in blind admiration. He wiggled pale eyebrows at her. "But you can see 'em. Ya know, I was there for every one of your six performances of 'As Ya Like It'."

"No, I didn't know that." Miss Charleston's response was flavored with polite disinterest, and she kept looking over his shoulder to the cell block. She drummed her fingers on the counter, the click of her nails repeating over and over in a decided pattern. "May I see them now?"

Andrew's face fell a bit, and he pulled himself up again with a grunt in the back of his throat. "I was stationed there to keep the folks without tickets away," he said, and sounded very disappointed that the actress aparently did not remember him. "Stood at the doors all night in the cold, watchin' you on stage – you looked like a newborn babe out there next to all them old timers."

She took the time to frown at that, and straightened. Her reply was even. "Talent has nothing to do with age. Now may I see the boys, or not?"

"Course, miss, course," Andrew tipped his hat at her. "Don't know why a famous gal like you'd wanna associate with the likes a them. You here on God's work?"

"Yes," The word was quick to leave her lips, coming out breathless, and she gave him a swift smile that did not reflect in her eyes. "We're all sinners in the eyes of the Lord. I would be a hypocrite if I didn't do his work."

"Hypowhat?"

"May I please go in now?" She pressed, hurriedly. "I have other engagements…"

"Oh, right, right, course miss." Andrew reached over to the wall and took down the long rifle from it's pegs, setting it on his shoulder and sauntering around the front booth. "This way."

"Thank you."

"Now I'm warnin ya, miss, that these boys are the lowest of the low. Crude, rude and aint gonna appreciate some respectable woman like yourself." Andrew guided her by the elbow through the narrow hallway until they reached the end of it, where a thick oak door cut the cell block off from the check in station.

It was latched down with four or five heavy iron locks, only the a bit rusted, and sunlight outlined the frame. Andrew threw the locks in an effortless fashion, and threw Miss Charleston one last look. "I'll be out here. You give me a holler if any a them boys do anythin' ya don't like. Just a holler."

"Thank you." Was all Miss Charleston said before he lugged the heavy door open and she slipped in. The block was a small one, and Jo took in the consideration that it was the execution block and generally didn't have roomy compartments. It had only six cells, both wide and tall with thick, inescapable bars chipping black paint and large rusty locks. It was depressing, and cold.

It was also silent save for the rhythmic breathing of a few sleeping captives, and those that were not asleep did not even seem to see her. In the cell closest to her right there was a young man she had come to see, the notorious Arkansas Dave Rudabaugh, sleeping with his back to the bars and his arm folded behind his head. He had been given no blankets, but he still had his worn overcoat with the reattatched sleeves to suffice him. 

"Dave," she whispered, coming to a low crouch at the bottom of the cell and removing her wide brimmed blue hat so she could come closer to the bars. The young man did not move, did not even stir. Jo had known Dave long enough to know he was no heavy sleeper, and she slipped a hand between the iron to touch his shoulder. "Dave, it's me, Jo. Wake up."

Dave made no sound, but he did draw in a deep breath that disrupted his usual pattern of breathing. He spitefully let her know that he was awake. Dave was ignoring her. Jo closed her eyes and exhaled hard through her nose, slowly pulling her hand back into her blue cotton lap and letting her knees slide onto the ground. The pressing quiet kept her edgy, and she awkwardly pushed a dark coil of hair from her face, clearing her throat in the silence.

"I came to tell you I'm leaving." She began suddenly, waiting a moment for a reaction, any sign that Dave cared or even heard her. When Dave tensed his green clad shoulders and replied with another deep sigh, Jo continued on, casting her gaze down into her open purse and rummaging around. She withdrew a stiff slip of paper, with smeared blue ink and her signature. 

"First class to Dallas. Noon tomorrow." Jo said, and gave the ticket one light slap against her maroon stockinged thigh before she had to force a quick smile when Dave rolled over to finally look at her. He only stared at her incredulously, his light brown eyes catching the poor jailhouse light and four days length had added to his stubble. Dave's hair was touseled from his sleeping position, and fading yellow bruises still lingered on his face. "I wrote to my mother…and I know she and my father'll be wating for me."

"You're headin' to Texas?" he asked softly, and frowned with a gaping jaw when she gave an affirmative nod. "Hell, Josephine, what in Hades for?"

"Because, it's my home, Dave!" Jo shot in her own defense, drawing back a bit with an uncomfortable scowl. "I belong there."

"And your just gonna let me hang?" Dave prompted in an urgent voice, low and even a bit rough. Jo yelped when he darted up to grip the bars, feeling very silly afterwards for granting him a glimpse of how she truly felt in all of this. He pressed his face between the two bars and practically hollowed her out with his desperate stare. "You're just leavin, just like that?"

"Dave – "

"Even Hendry William French? He aint never killed no-one!" 

"Oh stop acting like you care," Jo said in a low voice, her tone cruely frosted as she stuffed her ticket back into her purse and broke her glare at him. "You're no good at it."

"Naw, you're the great actress." Dave's words dripped with mock, contempt, and he moved away from the bars and set his elbows on his kness, turning to scowl at the wall. It was silent between them for the next few minutes, then, "Go on. Leave, then. Everybody'll gather round to see the notorious Arkansas Dave Rudabaugh hung. I'm a famous man. I earned it, I earned all this. I didn't just hop around a stage pretendin' to be other people."

"You all earned yourselves a hangin'. It's the only way for this story to end." Jo sounded a bit distant as she spoke, fumbling with loose threads of her v-necked grey blouse. She wound them around her fingers and unravelled them again, and Dave wondered if she had listened to a word he said. "You can't expect to ride out into a sun set with your fortune, Dave. If that's how you wanted this to end, you shouldn't have become an outlaw." 

"Did ya ever think maybe some of us was born to be outlaws?" Dave challenged, bringing Jo's gaze to linger on his still healing face, though no sorrow reflected in the eyes that surveyed him. He had expected that. An entire year with this girl had given him time to see every detail of her personality, when she put her masks on, and when she could no longer hide behind them. When he looked at her she turned away. "I's never good at anything else, Jo. But I'm good at what I do."

"You were one of the best," she said softly, and stirred uncomfortably beside the bars. Jo let her fingers brush against the cold bars once more before inhaling deeply and slowly uncoiling to her feet. "And now you're paying for it. I came to say goodbye, Dave." Jo turned away from him, letting the air from the barred but open window at the end of the block run past her and ruffle her satin-cotton skirts. The sound earned a quick glance from Dave. "That's all."

"Well goodbye, Josephine." Dave shot a look up at her. "I'll wait for you in hell. Or maybe I'll come down to Texas and bring you down with me."

"What makes you think you'll ever live to get the chance?"

"Billy'll come for us."

Jo snorted and gave a wry half smile, flicking her gaze over to the other three boys, Doc, Chavez and Hendry. They still slept soundly, certainly resting easy for dead men. Maybe the reason they slept so well and Dave did not was because they _did_ trust in Billy to get them out of this tangle again. Perhaps it truly was their undying faith in their brother that kept the demons that tormented Dave away; doubt and fear. Jo shook her head, and looked back to Dave. "Billy Bonney's in shackles of his own."

"Ya knew us," Dave reminded her slowly, and a glimmer of something Jo could not pinpoint surfaced in his light brown eyes. He blinked slowly. "Ya spent almost a year with all of us and now you're leavin us behind. You had a million chances to turn us in and ya didn't, and now youre tryin to convince me you'll just leave us behind."

"You don't believe me?" Jo inquired with a fine dark brow arched, setting her arms across her chest. "You don't think I'll leave you here?"

"I admit, Josie," Dave stifled an obvious laugh, and he winked at her. "You're a good actress. But you aint got me fooled. And I got a week to find out if I'm right."

--- --- ---


	2. II

**May 27th, 1881**

By this time in any New Mexican city one would be hard pressed to find anyone that did not know the face of Billy the Kid. He was on every poster on every wall in every city, and had been for quite some time even though it was now common knowledge that Sheriff Patrick Floyd Garret had chased him over the border into Old Mexico. 

But to his friends, Billy had promised he had a plan. 

"Now we're gonna smear all this red shit all over my face." he began, and upon approach tossed two pallets of a chalky substance at the feet of the three other men leaning sitting against the stable wall. That "red shit" was two dollars worth of quality stage make-up, but by itself it looked utterly useless. Three questioning looks, and Billy snorted in exasperation. He chicked Chavez's boot with the side of his foot, sending a mini cloud of orange dust into the air of the dimming evening.  

Chavez frowned, but other than frowning he did nothing to suggest he cared to listen to Billy, and the Indian flicked his dark eyes back to the sand. The bond of trust between himself and the boy devil had been tested and broken, and that was why Doc was no longer with them. 

"What's this?" Dave asked with mild interest, though he sounded more annoyed and bothered by the May heat than interested in anything Billy wanted to do, other than head for Canada. He tipped his hat back and nudged the pallet with his toe, watching it get half-way swallowed by the sand before looking over to the man seated next to him: Chavez. "This summa your, eh…" Dave scratched his head and squinted, trying to search for words that would not offend Chavez and finding himself quite unsuccessful. 

Chavez arched a brow, and he drawled with a bit of good humor, trying to fight off a slow, wry smile twitching at his pursed lips,  "Red-ass Navajo war paint?" 

Dave cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, his brown eyes sliding to give the old bandage around Chavez' forearm a quick glance. The injury had almost fully healed – though Chavez never complained of it even when Dave had first yanked the knife out of his flesh. He snorted. "I was just gonna say war paint, but sure."

"No. It's not." 

Billy was giving both of them of a boyish scowl; being increasingly aware of how angry Chavez still was with him did not shed a good light on the Mexican-Indian's paying more attention to a rival than him. He folded his arms and stood back to observe, waiting for someone to ask him what it was. Surprisingly, it was Chavez who spoke up.

"What is it, Chivato, and what are you planning to do with it?"

"Hendry and I are goin to the show tonight," Billy announced, bending down and scooping up the pallets with one of his hands. "I have to find a way to hide my face, so I thought bandages would work. You and Dave are gonna stay out here and wait for us with the horses, Chavez."

"Billy, hell, they let anyone in saloons nowadays, even Negroes." Dave offered with a shrug, and Chavez snorted, turning away. Dave ignored him. "Even if they don't, Chavez don't need my company out here."

"Tell me somethin', Dave, why in hell would I wanna go in a saloon?" Billy prompted down at him, and Dave frowned wordlessly. The younger man took a step back and held up both hands, as if agreeing to tell if his friends would not attack him. "I've got a plan to get Doc this time. We're gonna go see the show tonight, whatever the hell is playing at the Phoenix Carver…and when it's done we're gonna take the actress. We're gonna keep her for a little while."

"Chivato, if we kidnap someone like Joanna Charleston Garrett will be the first one to know and we'll be finished, it will be the _end_," Chavez came to stand, staring Billy down, and for once exerting a proper amount of authority that came with his height advantage. 

There was only one way to keep Billy's reckless plans at bay, and that was to bully him. Unfortunately the Kid would not be bullied. He had a tendency to either weasel his way out of things, or just to shoot the bully. "We're lucky to be alive, Chivato. We need to get Doc and we need to _leave_."

Billy stood his ground, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed in a hard scowl.  His voice fell to a dangerously soft note, and he took a step closer to Chavez. "How far do ya think we'll get? How far'll they let us get? If we even manage to get Doc _out the door_ of that hospital -" Billy broke off in a vicious curse, averting his glare from Chavez' for a moment to catch himself again. 

The tension in the air sparked with need to burst, and Billy's ragged breathing seemed magnified ten fold to those awaiting the outcome of the argument. Finally, after a inhaling deeply through his nose he straightened, and slowly turned back. He hardened his tone. 

"If we manage to get Doc to even stand for a few seconds it'll only be cause they felt like playin' with us. Doc'll die, and then so'll we." Something flashed in the ice of William H. Bonney's blue eyes, a flash of hurt that slipped past the polishes of reasonable hate. He knew his words were true, and even more did he only wish they were a falsehood, and that they could just go in and get Doc, then ride out of Santa Fe in a wild frenzy of shouting and firing - 

"It's true, Chavez," Hendry said from the ground, tipping his hat back and betraying concerned brown eyes to the sun. "Doc was shot bad. Even if we do manage to leave the hospital and mount up, Doc'll die before we get outta Santa Fe." Dave snorted at his side, a little smile coming to his lips as he stroked his lightly stubbled chin. 

"Come on," Billy whispered softly, reaching out to seize a fistful of Chavez' sleeve roughly, but not in anger. Chavez made a point of not looking at him, knowing that one glance would seal his fate and he would end up kidnapping the whole working cast and crew of the Phoenix Carver Theater for the Kid. "Chavez, Doc's only chance is us."

"They can't hang him." Hendry put in helpfully, and Billy gave him a grateful nod. 

"That's right, Hendry, they can't hang 'im," he shot Chavez another persuasive wide-eyed glance. "As long as he's in that hospital bed there aint a gallows in the world that can touch 'im. So we wait until he's moved into a proper jailhouse and we bust 'im out."

"And we can't leave town," Chavez continued for him through gritted teeth, his words dripping with the dread of knowing there was no way around Billy's reasoning. He angled his head to meet Billy's eyes, a sense of irony as well as annoyance wrought in his dark features. "…Because we have to make certain they don't kill Doc in his sleep. So the only way to successfully save Doc is to hide out like the fugitives we are, in Santa Fe."

"Exactly."

"And what does kidnapping an actress have to do-" Chavez caught the bemused half-smile on Billy's lips, and all at once his good senses practically jolted to take over again. "No."

"Jesus, Chavez – "

"_You_ stay out of this, gringo," Chavez snapped to Dave before he could finish, and the other man rolled his eyes but respectfully (and wisely) kept his mouth shut. Chavez held a finger inches away from Billy's nose, and the Kid stared down it good-naturedly. Anger jerked somewhere inside him, but not because he didn't agree with Billy's plan – it was because he _knew_ Billy was right. "We're going to keep her hostage in her own home…? We're going to give them an entire _year_ to find out we never made it to Mexico?!"

Dave kept his narrowed eyes on the pair, and reached into his coat for a whisky bottle.

"Look, Chavez," Billy lowered his voice and reached up to shove the finger away from his face. "Joanna Charleston is famous, well respected, filthy rich, and she lives all alone. She can keep us fed and clothed for as long as it takes for Doc to mend up, and aint no-one gonna notice!"

"Except for when people come to her house wondering why she hasn't been performing lately." 

"Dammit, Chavez, you're just like Doc!" Billy snapped, throwing his hands up with an exasperated sigh.  "All ya ever do is nag!"  

"That's because all of your plans are tricky, we can't trust them, Chivato." Chavez leveled Billy with a dark look. "Now I'll follow you this time, I'll go along with your plan, but – "

"But?" Billy raised both brows high on his forehead, expectantly, leaning back and folding his arms smugly to await Chavez's finish. Silence, only broken by the attempt to control anger. Billy winked. "Come on Chavez, we wanna hear it. But what?" A devastatingly rakish smile. 

Chavez kept his mouth a thin line, tight, and his jaw was set. He waited a moment, and finally growled, much to Billy's satisfaction. "There are no buts, Chivato, you know that you…"For a moment Chavez looked like he was deciding whether or not to spit out the nastiest insult possible, but when the corners of his mouth stopped twitching he only muttered, "…you smarmy bastard."

Dave spewed drink into the dust, not bothering to stifle any of his hysterical laughter and shaking with it. "Smarmy bastard!"

"Will you shut up, Dave?!" Billy snapped, making a face at the other young man and kicking him hard in the knee with the side of his boot. Dave scooted away from Billy's attack with a good grace, still chuckling. Billy's face had completely changed, transforming from mischievous to serious like day to night. He looped his thumbs in his belt and looked up at Chavez through scattered silver bangs. "You're right, Chavez. No buts. Not unless we want Doc six feet under in an unmarked grave." 

"So," Dave snorted his last chuckle, and Billy slowly turned to look down on him with a very unpleased expression. Dave gestured with his bottle. "So me an' Chavez are gonna wait outside the theater while you two watch the show?" 

"Ya both gotta be saddled up and ready to run like hells on your heels."

"Well piss on that," Dave laughed, tilting his head back to take a long swig of his whisky, uncaring for all the eyes of his mates being on him. He swallowed hard and shook a finger at Billy, setting the bottle down to rest on his thigh, his legs parted Indian style. "I aint waitin around for three hours while you two watch a show."

"Dave, I don't give a damn what ya do when you're waitin', you just better be at the pick up," Billy warned him; hardly sounding interested enough to argue with Dave. Rudabaugh had nowhere else to go, which was probably his main reason for not leaving when Doc and Chavez surfaced again, and he was shoved into last in line on Billy's attention span. Billy kicked him again with the toe of his boot, urging him to stand. "C'mon, up. Go with Chavez and be outside the theater, across the street…I donno, casual like."

Dave whined as he pulled himself up and reluctantly corked his bottle, balancing it between his ribs and his elbow while doing so. He pulled his black hat further down so that his bangs became a jagged mismatch on his forehead. When he had moved over to his horse, closer to Chavez, he gave the taller man a quick nudge with his elbow. "What if they see us?"

"We'll make sure they don't," Chavez slid Dave a wry smile and hoisted himself up into the saddle of his ride, reaching behind his head to fasten the handkerchief from around his neck to up at his jaw, covering all save his eyes. With the slightest inclination of his dark head, he halfway turned to Dave. "You coming, gringo?"

"Yeah, I'm comin'."

"Well move faster." 

"Yeah, yeah," Dave fit a boot into the stirrup and thrust himself up into the saddle, scowling at the new feeling of a different model and shifting around to try and adjust. "Goddamn…I hate trading horses…takes forever to get used to it again."

"Get a move on, Dave!" Billy cried, giving the new horse a hard slap on the haunches and sending it into a trot. He looked up at Chavez with squinting eyes and a half-smile in the still very bright sun. "Guy whines more than a cat in heat."

"I heard that."

Billy shook his head, waving them off. He turned to the other man, now standing by his horse and awaiting Billy's next command. "Come on, Hendry," he took the pallets from Hendry and pocketed them with a quick glance around. "You and me are the only respectable lookin' ones of our outfit."

"'Cept Doc." Hendry said with a bit of a dim-witted smile and a slow, uncertain voice. "What're you planning, now?"

"We gotta mix this with water." Billy told him, waving the pallet around before putting it back into the pocket of his pants, still streaked with drying mud. "Then smear it on my face, make it look like I've got a reason for bein' bandaged, you know what I mean. Then we have to clean ourselves up, Hendry. Gotta look respectful."

"Yeah," Hendry agreed happily, a long smile coming to his dirty face. He shook a hand in the air, as if deciding what words to use. "Yeah, some new clothes'd be real nice. I'd like that."

"I'll bet you would. You got any money, Hendry?"

Hendry William French frowned thoughtfully, as if asking himself the same question, and he gingerly opened his coat to search his pockets. He rummaged around a bit, talking slowly as he searched, "I had about ten even dollars when we left Ft. Sumner," he gave a little shrug, his head angled down. He made a delighted noise and withdrew a wad of faded bills. Hendry grinned widely. "Haven't spent any, Billy."

"Been savin', Hendry, that's good. You've got money when you need it." Billy was counting his own savings, finding just about eight dollars and a few dimes. He nodded, and without looking up held a hand out. Hendry wordlessly set the ten dollars in Billy's palm, watching him flatten the bills together. "Good. Together we got around eighteen, that should get us a few nice coats and hats."

Billy smiled to himself and pocketed the money, running a finger down his tanned cheek. The trail he left on his face was slightly paler in contrast to the thick grime on his skin, and he gave a snort of laughter at his own expense. "And a bath. I haven't needed a bath this bad in a long time. How's a bath sound, Hendry?"

"I'd like that."

"Good." Billy pulled himself into the saddle, and waited for Hendry to follow his example. The day was slowly beginning to fade into a lavender evening, and time was short for preparation. He chucked the reins, keeping his watch to the sky. "We can't lift anything in Santa Fe, Hendry. They'll know the first thing that we did it."

"I hear ya."

--- --- ---


	3. III

**May 25th , 1881**

"Pardon me, miss,"  Virginia quickly flipped her book closed, and shoved her copy of '**Billy the Kid: Prince of the Pistoleers'** clumsily beneath a stack of visiting records, tipping over a (thankfully) dried up inkwell. She looked up to meet the even gaze of a young man, perhaps in his late twenties, who though seemed very patient with her looked like he had no time to waste. Virginia reached up to smooth her loosely pulled back brown hair instinctively, and put her business face on. "Is the doctor Romay in, do you know?"

"He's with his patients right now, sir," Virginia came to her feet so awkwardly that when her chair pushed back it screeched against the planked floor, and she inwardly cringed, shutting both eyes so hard it almost hurt and mouthing a curse. She opened an eye, leaving the other one scrunched. "I'll tell him you're here. Whom shall I say is inquiring after him?" 

"Sheriff Patrick Garrett, of Lincoln County." 

Virginia felt her stomach drop, and she folded her hands behind her back to stop fidgeting. Pat Garrett. Patrick Floyd Garrett. Sheriff Patrick Floyd Garrett, the one man in America that Billy the Kid feared was standing before her, the one man that had put Billy on the chase of his life was asking to speak to her father! She cleared her throat, hoping he did not see how her cheeks were blazing pink and keeping her head down. She pretended to shuffle papers, and finally managed to move around her chair without knocking it over. 

"I'll tell him you've arrived."

"Please be quick."

"I will, sir." Virginia scurried off with just one glance in the young man's direction again – he was standing there with good posture, and a long rifle in his hand. About five or so men stood around him, and a stretcher with what looked like a body on it was being held up between them all. Part of her hoped, in the most distant and far-fetched way she had ever felt, that it might be Billy – but the other parts reminded her that Billy the Kid had fled to Old Mexico. She turned back to her mission without another word. 

Five or so minutes later, Virginia came back down the wide hall with her father's elbow carefully clutched between her forefinger and thumb, so as not to touch the blood that smothered halfway up his wrists. Dr. Romay was weary from the usual hard day of work, and his old faded blue eyes shed no enthusiasm toward his guests, and the presence of his bloody gloves showed he had no intentions of removing them to shake hands. Virginia glanced up in time to see him squint at the handsome young man, and frown quizzically.

"Papa, it's Sheriff Garrett," she told him again, nodding to the young man and catching a smile from him. Virginia mentally cursed again, swearing her head would catch fire if he looked at her that way one more time. "He came to see you."

"Yes, I know, Gin, go back to work." Dr. Romay took a step forward. "Sheriff."

"Dr. Romay, if you'll remember we have spoken several times through mail correspondence?"

"Yes, yes," Virginia heard her father's leathery voice confirm as she moved back to her seat behind the desk, smoothing her skirt before sitting down. She knew how rude it was to eavesdrop, but at this point she didn't care, so she listened with half an ear. "Do you have him?"

"Wait, wait…" Garrett's voice. Virginia politely tucked her chin so it appeared that she was sifting through records, but when she did get the chance to sneak a glance over to the crowd of men one would look at her and she would quickly start sifting again. "There are some matters at hand that should be dealt with first before I release him into your care, Dr. Romay…"

"And they are?"

"This man is a criminal, but still a human being," Garrett stepped closer to Dr. Romay, gesturing with his hands and not seeming to care how close he was to the mess of the doctor's gloves. "He must have the same treatment as the other patients here. I want him alive." The voice lowered. "If he is to die in this hospital regardless of your expertise, it will be comfortable. Peaceful. No harassment. Do we have an understanding?"

Virginia, now sifting through papers and shamelessly watching all at once, knew her father would was impressed now. He was showing no signs of it, but she had been his daughter for nearly nineteen years now, and could read him like a newspaper. Dr. Alexander Bledel Romay had gone into the medical profession because he was a compassionate, hard-working honorable man that saw a golden opportunity to help the needy, not for the money. Never for the money. Dr. Romay was impressed only by the honorable measure of a fellow human being.

Dr. Romay, however, said nothing right away. He simply gazed levelly into the face of the other man, no expression, not even a blink. His upper lip twitched beneath a heavy grey mustache. Then, ever so slightly, he nodded. "Very well, then. I need you to come with me and sign the documents to permit him here, under my care, of course." Dr. Romay jerked his head as a gesture to be followed. "I'll have my Virginia stay out here with your men, so as to not draw any unnecessary attention."

"Thank you, Dr. Romay."

"Virginia!" 

Virginia lifted her head with a few fluttering blinks to ensure an innocent appearance, and called a bit louder than necessary, "Yes, Papa?"

"I'm certain you heard most of everything we spoke of, so would you be kind enough to help these gentlemen find a place to set the stretcher?" Dr. Romay's rich voice was firm, but not unkind, and Virginia, who felt herself blushing yet again, gave a curt nod and tried to act as professional as possible. She stood to move around the desk, but her father called again, "Virginia? Make sure they're not bothered."

"Yes, sir." Virginia complied, and Dr. Romay winked at her. She heard him finally remove his gloves as Sheriff Garrett and the doctor retreated to his office, and without waiting another moment moved around the desk to the crowd of men standing idly around. 

They were certainly the deputy types – young, barely getting beards in, not looking very intelligent, and not seeming extremely concerned with anything in their surroundings. Virginia, however, smiled at them and beckoned for the two holding the stretcher to follow her. 

Against the wall was a large white couch, twice as long as it was wide, but also firm enough to not give way and lose support of the patient's body. She told them to set the stretcher on it, and they all sort of mumbled a "yes, ma'am" and complied. She, of course, had to stand back, but she made sure to stand on the tips of her toes to peer over one of their plaid-covered shoulders (while also trying to ignore the smell of traveling men). 

The body in the stretcher was that of a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, with a very pale face and a week or so worth of stubble quickly becoming a beard. He was under a think cotton sheet that was pulled up to the middle of his chest, which told Virginia that his wounds were probably to the abdomen. When the deputies all cleared away, thankful to have their arms back, she took a step closer to further survey the "criminal". He certainly did not look like one.

His features were almost boyish, though she knew there was probably nothing boyish about what this young man had seen in his time. The youthful face was contorted in pain, the yellow brows furrowed in an incoherent expression of suffering, and his pale lips, that may have formed a rose-bud mouth if they had any color, were parted very slightly. Virginia felt herself frowning with wonder at how long, exactly, these people had been traveling with him – his skin was caked with a thick layer of dust. 

"You'd hardly think him to be one of the Kid's, wouldn't you?" 

Virginia tore her eyes from the prone body and turned quickly to meet a tall man, a man she had not seen earlier with the other deputies. He wore a gentlemen's garb, sleek and clean despite his own collection of dust from the outside winds, and his features were sharp. Wide blue eyes, a chiseled nose and mouth with a mustache coming just over his upper lip. Virginia snapped at herself mentally to stop staring, and instead she gave a polite smile.

"No…is he?"

"Josiah Gordon Scurlock, of the Lincoln County Regulators." the man shook his head when he looked at Scurlock, as if disappointed with the outcome of his fate, and turned back to Virginia. "Have you heard of him? 'Doc' Scurlock? No?"

"I've only heard things about Billy the Kid…what, umm…what did he do?" 

"Read about the Lincoln County wars sometime, miss, you'll get all your facts there." The man turned away with a tip of his hat, and Virginia made a face at his back. There had been something very condescending in the way the man had addressed her – probably because she was a nurse. With a sigh of exasperation she turned back to the outlaw, Josiah G. Scurlock, and raised her brows expectantly.

"You certainly stirred up a lot of dust with the law, didn't you?" she asked from the side of her mouth, sounding half-ready to receive an answer. Virginia gently reached down, her fingertips hovering just above his forehead, which was still cold and painted with sweat. She combed his dirty blond hair away from his face to better see his closed eyes. Copper lashes lay against his grimy cheek, and one of the lids twitched, but it was apparent that she would get no answers out of him today. Virginia withdrew her hand. 

The sound of boots clicking against the concrete floors of the hallway jolted Virginia's instincts into alert and she stepped clear away from the prone young man, waiting against the wall with her hands tucked behind her back.  The deputies shuffled their feet and bent to spit every now and then; halfway into it remembering they were in a hospital and having to suck it back up. Virginia kept her eyes down, thinking she might vomit if she looked at the spitting anymore, and when the familiar boots and shoes of Garrett and her father she glanced back up again.

"Then it's all in order, Sheriff." Dr. Romay stood to face Garrett with the same stern look, and extended a hand. Garrett took it and gave it a firm shake. "Can I do anything else for you?"

"No, you've done enough. Do you need any of my boys to help you move him?" 

"No, no, my staff can probably get him to a bed a bit more safely than your boys." Dr. Romay gave Garrett's hand one last shake, and released him. Pat Garrett thanked him, tipped his hat to Virginia, and beckoned for all the deputies to follow him out. 

It seemed like eternity before the door finally closed, and Virginia let her breath out.  "Papa, who were they?" 

"Who they said they were. Sheriff and deputies of Lincoln County."

"And who's he?"

Dr. Romay removed his glasses to wipe them on his sleeve, and peered at the young man still unconscious in the stretcher. He glanced up at Virginia, the corner of his mouth quirking up in bemusement. "You know who he is, Ginny." He shook a finger at her, slipping his spectacles back on. "Nothing funny, now. Get the other end of that stretcher."

Virginia scurried on over to the end of the sofa, and curled her fingers tightly around the wooden handles of the stretcher, bracing her feet flatly against the floor and awaiting her father's order to lift. Dr. Romay assumed a similar position, and met her eyes from across the body. He gave a nod. As one they pulled up, and with a simultaneous grunt began to move toward the double doors that were the entrance to the wide medical room.

At the sight of Virginia and Dr. Romay shuffling in with an obviously injured man in their care, several staff members flocked to their aid. The burning in her arms came to a cooling halt as Virginia let loose the stretcher into the hands of another nurse. She took a few steps back and watched three men kneel by a bed; all holding the stretcher at it's level and preparing to make the transition to the mattress. Their arms were shaking – despite the weight the young man had obviously lost from his condition, he was still considerably heavy. 

The blanket, beginning to pick up blood stains, was gently untucked from beneath his body and peeled off of him. Virginia was used to the scent and sight of blood and gore, so to see his bandaged chest only made her inwardly wince and forget it a moment later. Through the mumblings of the staff her father looked up, catching her eyes and bringing her to her feet with only a nod. 

"Ginny, come round here and support his head …" he said, and Gin had already come to bend over the patient, sliding her hands between the cross-hatched twine stretcher and the back of his head, which was warm and damp with sweat. The skin on the backs of her hands snapped in sudden pain from the rough surface, and with every move to lift him up they were further chafed. Virginia bit her bottom lip but didn't complain.

"Easy, easy…" Dr. Romay's voice on it's own was like a guiding hand, a gentle hand, whether it was with Gin or his patients or his staff. He made hard work bearable, and Gin soon forgot her own ailings. She kept her hands cupped under Scurlock's head, gently keeping it aligned with his neck as his frail body was moved onto the clean white sheets of a new bed. "There's a good lad, easy…gently, gently now…" The last few commands were carried out, and with a heavy, painful sigh from Scurlock, he finally made it to the bed. 

"Alright, thank you all, thank you." Dr. Romay waved all the crowding nurses away good naturedly, but took one of them by the sleeve and stopped to request their further assistance. "I'm going to need water, bandages, and lots of alcohol – brandy if nothing else. I've been told the bullet was cut out, but infection could still be festering in there."

The nurse nodded his dark head. "Yes, sir." 

"Thank you." 

Gin was standing over Scurlock, moving his hair away from his face again and gently adjusting the pillow beneath his head with her other hand. Dr. Romay came slowly to her side, planting both fists on his hips and pursing his lips in a grimace. He let out a long sigh.

"It's a pity, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"That such fine young men go wrong," In her father's eyes, Gin saw sympathy, as he felt for any of his patients –but also a sadness that came with it. A root of youthful, vain hope that he might have changed this outlaw's fate, if he had known him before he turned. Gin slipped a hand around Dr. Romay's elbow, and leaned her temple against his soft shoulder. He smelled of soap and spices. "He might have been anything, Ginny, anything he wanted to be. Now he's dying a wanted man."

"You won't let him die," she reminded him, the smile of a little girl on her pink lips. "You give everybody hope, even outlaws." 

"Ginny, it isn't always that simple." He planted a kiss on the top of her head, and shooed her away from the bed. "Now go home. Tell your mother I'll be along shortly, I've got a few more things to take care of before I go." He gave his daughter a little push. "Go on."

"I'm going." she reached up and pecked him on the cheek, brushing her hands off on her apron and heading toward the washroom. "We expect you sooner than later, Papa."

"Of course." 

Gin disappeared into the washroom, where it was becoming dim enough to light the lamps. She walked across the narrow room and adjusted the shutters so every last bit of fading sunlight would be put to good use, and when she finished she moved to the basin beneath the mirror. The last person in there had neglected to change the water, and Gin had to dump the soapy contents of the basin into the barrel by the table, and refill it herself with the pitcher on the opposite side.

She removed her apron and let her hair fall down around her shoulders after splashing her face a few times. It felt good to have her hair down, rather than in the tight bun her father required when she was working, and the water droplets that clung to her face attracted the fresh air, cooling her down. Finishing, Gin changed the basin water and left for home. 

--- --- ---

**May 27th, 1881**

Dave snared a fistful of Billy's wet hair and buried his nose in it. A moment later he pulled away, sporting a grin of approval. "Well hot damn, Billy, you do smell like Indian spice! What the hell soap did you buy?" Billy smirked and twirled his new hat over his fist, obviously enjoying all the attention he was getting over his new suit and hat. Hendry, now that his seven layers of dirt had been scrubbed off, might as well have been glowing. He didn't boast quite as much as Billy, but that pleased grin never left his face. 

Dave moved on to pick Hendry apart with insulting compliments (that everyone was used to by now and never thought much of, anyway), and Chavez stepped up to take his place. He looked Billy over a few times, walked around him in a circle, and came to stand before him again. Chavez looked very skeptical, but just Billy spread his arms and set his feet apart.

"Well? Impressed?"

Chavez snorted, reaching over and fitting two fingers between Billy's neck and the stiff grey collar, pulling it out a bit to loosen the friction it was bearing on the smaller man's flesh. He straightened the looped black tie, and snatched the hat up, and fit it roughly onto Billy's head. Chavez stepped back. 

"Now I'm impressed. Do you really think you can slip past them with just this, Chivato?" Chavez never could just agree with Billy. He awaited an answer, but of course got an action instead, and Billy displayed the red pallets again. Dave stopped tormenting Hendry and caught sight of them. 

"Ah thought you were just joking about that, Billy," Dave removed his black hat and ran a gloved hand through his shaggy hair. The sun was sinking fast, and a hat wasn't a necessity anymore, so he let it dangle at his side. "Are you really gonna bandage your face up?"

Billy winked at him, and shifted his gleaming eyes to Chavez. "Ya got any water around here?" Chavez frowned, and gave a casual glance over his shoulder to the poorly lit scene behind them: a few closing saloons and a general store split by an alley – and sand was everywhere. He turned back to Billy with a practical grunt, and shook his head. "Dammit." Billy swore, grinding the heel of his boot into the dust before beckoning for Hendry to come over with the bandages.

He opened a pallet, and sprinkled some of the dull-orangy powder into his palm, and ground it finer with his thumb and forefinger. He looked up from face to face as if evaluating his options, and his eyes rested on Dave. He nodded him over. Dave raised both brows high, jamming his own chest with his thumb.

"Who, me?"

"No, the guy next to ya. Yes, you, Dave." Billy's sarcasm made Dave scratch the back of his head and silently make his way over, giving his throat a cough and planting both hands on his hips, awaiting orders with a surprising obedience. Billy held the hand with the powder on it out. "Spit."

Dave glanced at Billy, glanced at the red power, and gave a little shrug. He inhaled a little air, made a few sloshy noises inside his mouth, and finally bent down to Billy's open palm and spat a sizable amount of watery foam into it. Billy added his own saliva, and managed to mush the powder into a paste. He called Hendry over with the bandages (Hendry had taken a few steps back, and was looking a little green). 

"Alright, boys, remember: I need my eyes." Billy said, wiping his red painted hand on the bandages and signaling with his other hand where to fit them. It wasn't such a tedious process as Billy had made it out to be: Dave pulled the strip of cloth just beneath his eyes and under the bridge of his nose, tying it to the bottom half of the bandage that covered his mouth but kept his nostrils free. With a last few adjustments, Dave grunted his own satisfaction and knotted it.  

Billy pressed the cloth close to his face, so that it absorbed some of the paint and looked like true bloodstains, while still looking decent enough to be seen in the presence of ladies. Billy tried to smile beneath the bandages, and gave a muffled laugh. His voice was warped as well. 

"Well?"

"I'm convinced." Dave barked gleefully, slapping the back of Chavez's arm hard (and surprisingly getting no reaction). "How about you, Chavez, Hendry?"

Chavez broiled Billy with a very sardonic gaze before cracking a grin, and holding both hands up – not necessarily in approval, but at least letting the Kid know he wouldn't try to stop him.  Hendry seemed to concurr more with Dave, and he straightened his own jacket. "Looks good, Billy, looks real good." He encouraged in his low, satisfied voice, and reached up to fix his tie – though he eventually couldn't avoid some help from Dave's skillful fingers. He had to remove his gloves first, however.

Billy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the watch given to him months ago by Doc (that he had managed to retrieve from Dave through means of several headlocks and an iron grip on his pinky). He opened it and frowned at the time, nodding to Hendry.

"We best be on our way. Come on now." Billy squared his shoulders and straightened his hat, taking a bold step forward to mount his horse. Hendry followed, changing his posture to mimic Billy's. When in the saddle, Billy gave his friends a salute, and leveled a finger at Chavez and Dave's faces. His eyes flattened like a still sea, serious and intense.  "I'm countin' on you two. I aint gonna be escorted outta town by two outlaws, so be on your best behavior."

Dave nodded and lifted a hand as if to shoo them off, but Chavez folded his arms across his chest. "Use your sense, Chivato, don't attract any unnecessary attention."

With a parting snort from both pairs, they turned away from one another and began on their separate ways. Chavez and Dave waited about ten minutes to follow behind them and take their places across the street. The lights of the theater were bright, and from a street away the orchestra could be heard.

--- --- --- 

There was a great deal of smartly dressed gentlemen and ladies all crowded by the entrance of the theater, talking in very soft voices while waiting to get in. Billy and Hendry were about halfway in the doors after about half an hour of standing in line and listening to three middle aged women (probably widows) gossip about things Billy and Hendry had never heard of in their lives. 

The Santa Fe night was thick and heavy, and Billy was perspiring beneath the thick bandages on his face. He was so tempted to tear them away and let the wind soothe his face – which was beginning to itch like crazy at this point. And it wasn't so easy to breath, either.

Upon reaching the doors, a pretty light haired girl in a pale green dress was asking for tickets, and Hendry obediently handed them over. Billy noted how she was trying not to stare at him, but didn't laugh at her. He just tipped his hat and kept on walking, Hendry coming closer to his side as if he thought the richly settings of the Phoenix-Carver theater would eat him alive.

"Hendry," Billy whispered, harshly, giving the other man a hard nudge in the ribs. Hendry jumped a bit, and looked at him with wide, startled brown eyes. "They aint gonna eat ya, Hendry, calm down."

"I'm nervous, is all." Hendry shrugged, giving his nice crisp coat another shift on his shoulders. "I feel like everyone's watchin' us."

"They're not. These kinda folks don't think about nothin' if it don't look like it has money." Billy assured him, his words sour but his voice as sweet with charm as maple syrup. He tipped his hat at a few random people passing. "Don't worry about it. Patsy thinks we're long gone into Old Mexico."

"I'd feel better if ya kept your head down a bit more," Hendry whispered back, gravely. "Ya got a nice face, Billy, I don't wanna see it blown off cause someone saw through those two cent bandages." Billy immediately stopped walking, and turned to Hendry with wide, astonished eyes. Hendry frowned. "What is it?"

"Did you just smart mouth me?"

Hendry's frown deepened, and he looked to the ceiling for the answers. "Yeah...yeah, I think I did."

Billy barked a laugh and gave Hendry's shoulder a punch. "Hell, Hendry, ya are gettin' used to us!"  Hendry grinned at that, and Billy patted his arm. "Go find our seats. I'm gonna go see if I can get one of those cast list things. We gotta know who we're lookin' for."

"Billy, don't cause any unnecessary attention."

"Uh, Hendry, I'm a professional – " Billy pried Hendry's iron grip from his sleeve, and gave his arm another reassuring pat. "I know what I'm doin'." 

"I sure hope so."

Billy gave a hearty laugh that drew heads to turn in their direction, and headed back against the current of audience members to the entrance. The push and hustle to get in the doors had died down a bit, and now the blonde girl was sitting at the long table with her chin in her hands, looking quite bored. Billy checked over his shoulder before coming directly beside her at the table, and gave the surface a tap with his forefinger that made her jump in her seat and yelp. She turned on him with flaring eyes, and seeing his face jumped once more.

"Hey there," he drawled with charm. "How's your night been?"

The girl looked around, as if there was some small chance that he was addressing someone behind her, realized there was no one else, and turned back to him. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and the way her eyes kept averting made Billy want to cackle – though it would definitely make short work of Dave's skillfully set bandages. "Busy, very busy…" she told him. "The first night usually is."

"I'll believe ya," Billy laughed a bit in his throat, and tapped the table again. "I'll believe ya. You're doin' an excellent job, though, what do ya do? Collect tickets around here?"

The girl's face hardened, and her full red lips tucked in to form a thin line of a mouth. She faced forward, taking a quick deep breath. "Yes, I collect tickets." As if to demonstrate, the girl began picking the tickets up and putting them into neat stacks, her movements hard and deliberate. "Because the thought of someone like me ever making it on the stage is just entirely unbelievable. I aint stage material. I'm just the ticket collector." She shot him a dark look, and Billy put his hands up.

"Hold it, missy, now ah never said that."

The girl turned her nose up a bit, and wisps of gold hair fell around to face and in her round blue eyes. "You'ere thinkin' it." 

"No, I wasn't." Billy cocked his head to the side, trying not to smile and shift his bandages around too much. The girl would not look at him, even though he leaned down to get a better look at her face (and he couldn't help his eyes from traveling to survey the rest of her, but he was more discreet about that). "I was wondering why a face like yours wasn't out there one that stage. Just as high as that Joanna Charleston." 

She cast her eyes to the ticket stacks, trying to hold back a smile. The pink on her cheeks intensified, and she gave a little laugh. Billy allowed himself a laugh as well, and even gave her shoulder a little slap, which she surprisingly enough did not seem to mind. "Hell, ah can even see you higher. Much higher."

"Well…" she laughed again, bringing a finger between her teeth in a nervous habit and smiling up at him. "I am an actress…"

"Ah knew it!" Billy clapped his hands together with a little cheer that made the blonde girl laugh even more, and he came to a crouch beside her, elbows on the table. "See, I knew you were an actress the minute I saw ya. I just didn't wanna say anything." He held a hand out to her. "What's your name, miss?"

"Jamie," she replied, taking his hand and shaking it once. "Jamie Taylor. What's yours?"

Billy paused for a moment, unsmiling, but his eyes twinkled. He shook her hand again, and beneath his bandages cracked another smile. "Billy."

"Billy," Jamie's voice was shaky with giggles, and she took her hand back. "Billy. Like Billy the Kid?" The faceless young man pointed at her and broke into uproarious laughter, bringing an arm to clutch his side. When his chuckles subsided enough to speak again, he met her smiling eyes with an affirmative nod. 

"Yeah, yeah…kinda like Billy the Kid." She laughed at that, and Billy gestured to another stack of piles to the left of her on the far side of the table. "Those the cast lists?" 

"Yeah, do ya need one?"

"If it aint too much trouble," Billy winked at her when she shuffled around the stack of papers and handed him the slip of paper. "Thank ya, ma'am. You keep that pretty face of yours in the spotlight, now!"

Jamie grinned, still looking a little embarrassed from the compliments and charm he had shamelessly bestowed on her, and Billy gave her one last wave before turning back to his destination. By the time he returned to his seat, Hendry was as white as a ghost, and was sitting erect and rigid in his seat. 

"How long until they start, Hendry?"

Hendry gestured to the front of the theater, where lights were beginning to dim and the scent of sweet burning oils filled the air as the stage was lit. Billy passed the cast list over to Hendry, fingering the boldly printed name near the top. Joanna Charleston…Lady Macbeth.

"I'm sure they'll mention who's who, Hendry, but I'm warnin' ya," Billy shifted around in his seat, giving a low whistle. "They talk in…eh…Shakespearian. Don't expect to get what they're sayin', or your head'll come off."

--- --- ---


	4. IIII

**May 27th, 1881**

"Hey, Chavez, how longs this show supposed to last?"   

Chavez, leaning against the fence with his ankles crossed and his knife tracing the contours of his bare hand with the dull edge, replied with, "A few hours. I'd suggest you find a way to occupy your time," he took the trouble to glance over at Dave. "That doesn't involve whining to me."

"I aint whining." Dave was balancing on the fence with his rear seated on the top bar, and his boots hooked into the very bottom of it – most of his support came from the post where his horse was tied. "I'm speculating."

"Amazing how you manage to blend the two."

Dave exhaled hard through his nose, the sigh turning into a frustrated snort. He bent himself in half and stared intently at the ground, which was almost instantly lost in his shadow. "We should've gone to Old Mexico. We'd be better off."

"You're welcome to run off yourself, Dave, your feet aren't tied down."

Dave folded his arms over his thighs, and looked up to the bright entrance of the theater. The orchestra played inside, and sent a melancholy air to the evening outside, as if it was trying to share a bit of itself with the dimming evening outside unable to partake in the magic of it. For a fleeting moment, Dave wished he had gone in instead of Hendry. 

--- --- ---

Billy had been right – an hour of trying to understand the conundrum of words that was the Shakespearian language was enough to hammer Hendry with the migraine of his life. Another hour of trying to ignore it was almost as lethal.

As for Billy, he seemed genuinely nonplused by the chattering and melodramatic noises that turned the stage into chaos for the uneducated ear. His excited blue eyes followed the actress Joanna Charleston from one side of the stage to the other, never leaving her, never missing a single exaggerated movement of her body.

Upon first seeing her, Billy had been surprised at how young she looked. Not a year over twenty-two, he guessed, judging by the sound of her voice and the nervous energy that sparked in her aura as she performed. He had expected someone older, someone like the actors and actresses around her, with years of experience etched into lines on their faces.

The Joanna Charleston everyone raved about, the Joanna Charleston people paid big money to see was not all he had expected. Yes, she was a good actress, she was convincing – but the charisma of a great legend of the stage was severely lacking. Billy shrugged it off. Everyone had their bad days, and considering his plans for the girl, he might as well be nice while he still had the chance.

Another hour passed, and finally the last monologue was spoken, the lights dimmed, and the curtains fell like hangmen on their silver-ringed nooses. Silence. Then uproarious applause followed, startling Billy and Hendry alike with the shrill whistles, the screaming, the cheering – Billy grinned, and shot to his feet to join in. Hendry followed his example, hesitantly.

The curtains snapped open again, the red and purple velvet of the Phoenix Carver Theater whipping so quickly to the sides that the action almost seemed hostile, and the cast wasted no time clasping hands and taking their bows. 

His hands stinging and becoming numb from the impacts of his applause, Billy turned to Hendry and said loudly enough for the other young man to hear, "Now after the bows there's gonna be a cast meet for maybe an hour. We need to get her alone."

"Don't think we can, Billy..." Hendry said doubtfully, regarding the stage with bewildered eyes and scratching the back of his shaggy dark head. "She'll have people all over her."

"Fans, Hendry, admirers. We gotta be more than that," Billy explained, and turned to give one more holler of delight as the curtains closed again. Hendry uncomfortably brought a hand up to cup over his ear, frowning a little at the continuous noise. Billy nudged him in the ribs. "You an I are gonna be offering her a job, see? In New York City."

"Isn't she famous enough here?"

"Hendry, will you lighten up?" Billy finally snapped, his eyes becoming the only windows to his frustration through the loose bandages. "Have some faith, will ya? Now I got all this on my face, so you've gotta be the actor here – "

"I thought I was gonna be the business man."

Billy stilled, regarding Hendry like he didn't know what to make of the other outlaw. He laid a hand on Hendry's shoulder, and leaned in, clarifying gently, "Hendry. You're going to pretend to be a businessman. You bring her as far away from the crowd as you can, got it?"

Hendry swallowed, and looked up at the empty stage. He had enough trouble being assertive with his gang, and being anything remotely bold around a famous actress was almost asking too much. But he nodded anyway, and Billy's eyes smiled him. He found encouragement. "Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"Good." Billy twisted his fingers into the elbow of Hendry's suit, and pushed him gently forward. "Now you gotta get me outta here, I can't see a thing. Ya gotta be loud, Hendry. You've gotta go straight up to her and say, "Ms. Charleston, let me first commend you on your inexplicable talent. Say it."

Hendry used his shoulder to weave the two of them through the crowd, moving his head around to try and find the doors. Outside, the nighttime began to travel in the entrance, and the smell of it rushed in with fresh air. Hendry breathed it in. "Ms. Charleston, let me first commend you on your inexplicable talent."

"'And uncompromising performance."

"And uncompromising performance." Hendry said slowly, hoping he did actually remember all of this. The crowd was moving very slowly, shuffling behind one another to reach the doors. They were not far off now. 

"'Now allow me to make a business proposition.'"

"Now...allow me to make a business proposition," Hendry said, a bit louder. The sound of his voice amplified and deepened increased his confidence, and he grinned despite himself. "A business proposition."

"'I want you to work in my theater in New York City, called the eh..." Billy paused behind him, and the weight on Hendry's elbow increased as Billy stalled. "Ah, hell, make it up. Tell her you want to speak in private, and escort her to the West side of the building. I'll be waiting there with a gun."

"Billy, I – I don't wanna scare her –"

"Ya don't wanna scare her!" Billy repeated in disbelief, once again slowing and making Hendry's efforts more difficult. The crowd seemed to have stopped moving all together. "Well shit, Hendry, why in God's name did you join my gang?!"

"Can't we just ask her to come quietly?"

Billy snorted, letting his free hand wander down to the stiff leather holster at his waist and laying his fingers on the steel of his last and best ally. "I wasn't gonna rough her up unless she asked for it."

Hendry's face fell into another uncomfortable frown, and he just nodded as his shoulder once again pushed forward through the mob of people. A few rude looks and snide comments later, they were out the doors and in the air of the hot Santa Fe night.

Billy caught Hendry by the arm again, and furtively whispered into his ear, "I'll be there with my gun, and we'll regroup with Dave and Chavez. They'll have our horses. I'm going." Billy didn't give Hendry any chances to rebuke the decision, and with a final push he sent Hendry forward. 

The dark haired young man sent him one last uncertain glance, and finally disappeared into the crowd. Billy smirked, and absently pressed his knuckles into his palm as he observed the world around him, each of the little joints all popping out of place. So this was what the upper crust did on their time off. Stood around and chattered about absolutely nothing.

"You again!"

At the unfamiliar voice, Billy turned and quickly sent a hand up to hold the loosening bandages around his face in place. It was the girl from four or five hours earlier, Jamie something. Without a second of hesitation, he gave a muffled laugh and held his hand out again.

"Hey there! Jamie, right?"

"Yeah," she grinned, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. Billy tried very hard not to notice the pink in her cheeks, and the excitement that sparked her dark blue eyes to life. It was no time to be thinking about girls, especially in his current disguise. "Did you enjoy the show?" she asked, and pulled him from his thoughts.

"Oh, hell yes. It was fantastic. Did you?"

"Well," Jamie rolled her eyes and gave a little shrug, taking her hands and slipping them into the discreet pockets hidden in the waves of the elaborate yellow dress. "I've been to every rehearsal, and a friend of mine had the main female role. I sort of lost my perspective."

Billy's brows lifted, impressed. "Your friend had the lead female role?"

"Oh, yeah, we've been together in Santa Fe a few years now – "

"Who was she?" Billy interrupted, and the girl started at the sudden change in his voice. He immediately felt a twinge of guilt, but it quickly vanished when she motioned with her pale hand to the crowd of people over where the cast meetings were going on.

"Rosalind."

"Well." Billy laughed. "Imagine that."

--- --- ---

Dave had fallen asleep about an hour ago, and was now curled up by one of the rotting posts of the fence, his head resting on his folded arms and his hat bent over his eyes. Chavez wondered how he had managed to sleep soundly for a full hour with all the noise from the theater, especially when the doors burst open and the audience poured out to meet the cast.

Chavez let a few more minutes pass between himself and the quickly moving world before them, carefully watching the crowd and making certain none of the eyes fell on them. He made sure to keep his head down – outlaw or not, these sorts would run an Indian out of town for the sake of running an Indian out of town.

Then he caught a glimpse of Hendry (despite his spruced up new look, he still stuck out like a black sheep) approaching a young woman of the cast. Hendry was obviously trying very hard to be polite, and assertive at once, but his gentle and shy nature was working hard against him. Surprisingly enough, he managed to take the woman gently by the arm and started to walk off with her. 

Whether or not he was addressing Joanna Charleston, the clock was ticking. Billy would need the horses soon, and it was better to be early than late.

Chavez moved a little closer to where Dave slept, and when he could gave the sleeping outlaw a swift kick in the ribs to wake him up. Dave jolted, and in the split second of panic had managed to draw one of his pistols and had it aimed up at the broad target of Chavez' chest.

Chavez didn't show his initial surprise at the reaction (he had expected a yelp and a few curses). Instead he just raised both eyebrows at the other man, and turned away to show his disconcert for any threat Dave might have posed.

"Time to go," he said shortly over his shoulder, and heard Dave grunt and release his weapon. 

"Asshole," Dave muttered before yawning deeply, and slid the six shooter back into it's holster at his side. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, and massaged the area that Chavez' boot had smashed into with his gloved fingers, wincing. "Ya might've tried asking me to get up."

"Come on," Chavez ordered, already on his horse and holding fast the reins of Billy's ride. He waited patiently for Dave to shake his sleeveless coat free of dust, and clumsily fit it back on. There was another moment of Dave gathering his things, and on his way to his own horse he shot the Mexican-Indian a dirty look.

Chavez tried not to laugh, it always seemed so easy to get a rise out of Dave these days, and the pastime had become a favorite of Billy's. Instead of further provoking him, Chavez snapped the reins of his horse and started forward. 

Dave was close behind. "Where're we going?"

"Theater, west side."

"Oh." Dave reached up and scratched the side of his head hard and deliberate, scowling at the bright lights and continuation of the orchestra as they passed the theater. "This gal'd better have someplace to bathe."

"What, mites again?"

"Probably." Dave moved to scratch the top of his left shoulder, and swore softly when the itch only intensified. "I don't know," he kept on. "I've been spending a lot of time near you, maybe it's fleas."

"I'm too relieved that you want to bathe that it's hard to take your comments to heart," Chavez remarked dryly, steering his horse gently away from the crowd, as it seemed to be dying down. The night was getting cooler, and despite himself Chavez felt sleep creeping up. It had been an exhausting week. 

His horse whistled shrilly, and reared up on its hind legs in a panic. Chavez yanked on the reins, and the animal whined but stopped dead in its tracks, snapping Chavez back to concentration like a kick in the gut. A girl had accidentally wandered in his path, and as it was his horse had nearly pummeled her to death when it's front legs had kicked up.

"I'm so sorry!" she apologized through a voice muffled by her hands covering her mouth. She reached out quickly to stroke the nose of the startled horse, pale fingers shaking as they hovered. When she made contact the horse whined softly again, and the girl looked up to Chavez, blushing furiously. "I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"Well I'd say you weren't," Dave put in before Chavez had the chance to reply, and sided up to the Indian with an ill-placed condescending frown. Looks as those were better left to the rich and well off, not vagrant sons of whores like Dave Rudabaugh. "And next time this bastard'll just let that nag trample ya, so keep your pretty little eyes open."

The girl's face got redder, and she averted her gaze. "I will, I'm sorry." Her hand didn't leave the nose of the horse, and she shushed it once more before looking up at Chavez. "Did I scare him?"

"A bit," Chavez said evenly, and raised his broad shoulders in a bit of a shrug. "Don't worry, he'll be alright. He's always edgy, jumpy. A real coward most of the time."

The brown haired girl laughed once, and moved her hand to lay it on the swell of the horse's cheek. "What's his name?"

"Dave."

"Oh, drink piss, Chavez."

She glanced from Dave to the smirking Chavez, and gave an embarrassed smile. "I meant...the horse. What's the horse's name?"

Chavez began to reply, and then promptly remembered that the horse actually didn't have a name. Most of his horses went on nameless, usually either being shot or traded off. He paused a moment, then shook his dark head. "Doesn't have one, miss."

"Yeah, well, I hate to break y'all up but we got places to be," Dave interjected rudely, and Chavez frowned as a twinge of annoyance hit him. He almost wished he'd left Dave asleep. "But it was nice not runnin' ya over, Miss, eh – "

"Virginia." 

"Right. Virginia. Maybe we'll see ya around sometime. Come on, Chavez," Dave jerked the reins of his horse and trotted on ahead, pulling Hendry's animal along by the bridle clenched in his dirty fingers. The Mexican-Indian watched him go, still wearing that frown, rolled his eyes. 

"Goodnight, Miss Virginia."

"Goodnight, yourself," she replied, politely, and got out of the way with an awkward side step to allow both Chavez' horse and Billy's to pass by. Chavez nodded to her, and ground his heels into the sides of his horse to urge it faster. He caught up with Dave, wordlessly. 

Dave, however, was grinning like an idiot. "I saw that."

"What."

"Little Miss Virginia was gettin really hot for ya."

"Dave," Chavez said firmly, not having the stomach to see the look on the other man's face. "Never say that to me again."

"All I'm sayin is that you shouldn't have passed that one up," Dave said as he came to a stop before the center of the theater, and squinted against the lights again. "She was alone and didn't look like she'd object to much of anything you'd try to pull. Now which side is west?"

Chavez opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it. Instead, he just nodded to the left and started the horse off again to where the buildings met, forming a dark alley of shadow and quiet. He moved furtively as possible around the dissipating crowd, and glanced behind him to check to see if Dave was actually following, or just having a chat with some random whore. 

The building loomed higher than it had appeared when they had waited across the street, but the shadow it provided was prefect. Black. No light managed to slither into the darkness and protection of the alley, and for a moment Chavez wondered if they would even be able to find Billy. 

He took the final steps into the shadow, and waited for Dave to follow. He held an arm out to stop Dave from going any further, and the other outlaw objected with one of those little short whines – he hated it when Chavez touched him. 

"Shh," Chavez snapped. "Wait."

Nothing came out of the darkness, not even the slightest hint of movement or sound. Then something stirred, and a bit of a whimper immediately directed Chavez' keen eyes to the source. His eyes began to adjust, and outlined in silver moonlight, Billy stood. 

"Chavez, that you?"

"Yeah. Come on, we've gotta skin out." Chavez wasted no time, and urged his horse forward a few steps to meet the three figures coming up. He squinted to get a better view of the girl Hendry held fast in a surprisingly strong grip, and after a few moments of trying gave up. Instead, he handed the reins of Billy's horse off to the Kid. "Hurry up."

Billy laughed, and held his arms out to Hendry in signal to pass the girl along. Hendry complied reluctantly, and handed her on over. He couldn't see her face in the darkness, but by the way her body felt in his arms told her everything he needed to know – she was cold, and rigid with fear. 

He kept a hand cupped hard over her bottom jaw, and one hand with his six-shooter close in her side. "Now you listen up, Miss Charleston," he whispered in her ear, and she jerked in his grip. Billy pressed the gun harder into the ribs of her corset. "We aint gonna hurt you, unless you give us reason to. You're gonna sit in front of me all the way home, and if you make even one attempt to escape I'll shoot you dead and end up escaping to Old Mexico anyway."

"We don't wanna hurt you, Miss Charleston," Hendry said, and it was apparent that his guilt was overriding his confidence in Billy's scheme. "We just need your help – "

"I'm talkin' here, Hendry," Billy snapped to the taller man, and turned back to Joanna Charleston. "He's right though. Now are you gonna be quiet? Cause I'd really like to let your mouth go, here." There was a vague noise of affirmation from the throat of the girl, and then a sharp nod. Billy laughed. "Agreed, then."

He released her, and the girl stumbled out of his grip, her hands coming to cover her jaw where his fingers had nearly bruised the flesh. She looked fearfully from outlaw to outlaw, and only got a slow nod from Chavez. 

"Hendry, help the lady to my horse," Billy said with a charming smile, and quickly mounted himself in less than the time it took for Hendry to process the command. He held a hand out, which the girl only stared at as if it were covered in blood. Her eyes darted back to Hendry, who moved to help her into the front of Billy's saddle. 

Billy clasped onto her hand with strong fingers, and gripped her elbow as well when Hendry hoisted her up onto the horse. His handling of her was in no way gentle, though she didn't get the feeling that he had meant to bruise her. When she was situated Billy clamped a hand onto her shoulder and gave it a little shake.

"Ya see? I don't bite, neither does Chavez or Hendry. Keep your fingers away from Dave's mouth, though, he's been living on whisky since Thursday," Billy joked, and scattered laughter mostly from Dave was all that he got in reply. He nudged the horse into a trot, and slowly, with an eerie confidence, the others moved into pace.

"I...think there's been a mistake," The girl said over her shoulder to Billy, wriggling a little in the iron grip of his surprisingly strong arms. Her waves of dark hair had been forced from its original style as it had been on stage, and was now disorderly and all over the place. "Sir, you've got the wrong person, I'm not Joanna Charleston."

"Alright, Miss Notjoanna Charleston, I believe ya," Billy in that voice that was entirely composed of laughter, and she felt him chuckle behind her. "And I'm Notbilly the Kid, it's a pleasure."

"But I'm not her!" She protested, violently, and thrashed once in his grip. The sound of several cocking guns followed in the darkness, and while she had the good sense to stop moving and lower her voice, she still persisted. "I swear it on my mothers good name, I'm not her! Why won't you believe me?!" The whisper turned into an agitated snarl, but it didn't faze Billy. 

"Because you'll say anything at this point to get outta this, trust me, I've done this a million times."

"No ya haven't."

"Shut up, Dave," Billy warned darkly behind him, and kept his horse going on straight. "Now if you'll just sit back and enjoy the ride, we'll have you back at your big old house in no time."

"But it's _not_ my goddamned house!" She growled in a louder voice, and jerked again, enough to throw Billy back a few inches in the saddle (though it was clear she knew she wouldn't be escaping that way, if at all). "I'm telling the goddamned truth!"

"And I'm gonna shove this here shotgun down your goddamned throat if you try that again," Dave said nastily, having ridden up beside Billy's horse unseen in the shallow moonlight. He held the saw-off gun in one hand, and the reins in the other with a frightening ease. "Now. Sit. Back."

"If you fire that thing every deputy in town'll come running to the sound," She replied dangerously to the smirking profile of Dave, shaking Billy off again when his arms brushed hers to reclaim the reins. "And that'll defeat the entire purpose of keeping me."

Dave swung the jagged edged barrel of the shotgun around to stab into the thin material of her sleeve, and cocked the hammer back. In the same dangerous tone, he said, "Either way, you'll be lyin' there dead."

"Dave, shut up and take up the rear." Billy ordered, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and pushing the barrel away. "Keep watch for anyone followin'."

"Yeah, sure."

--- --- ---

Jamie Taylor waited by the still open doors of the theater. It had gone beyond dark now, it was actually showing signs of getting lighter on the New Mexican horizon, and Josephine Perkins was nowhere to be found.

She kept glancing up at the big clock on the wall – ten thirty, eleven, eleven thirty... the crowd had finally died down, and all that remained was a few china men cleaning the theater building, and several actors helping out. Despite the hot days of May, night brought on a singular desert chill that never failed to creep through the material of Jamie's dress and leave her hugging herself tightly to avoid it. She swore quietly under her breath, and looked bitterly up at the lazy stars in the sky. 

"I'll kill you, Jo Perkins…just wait until I get my hands around that pale little neck of yours-"

"Miss Taylor," Jamie jumped at the sound of the new voice, and to her right discovered one of the chinamen holding a broom. Ping. He gestured to the empty theater, speaking through his thick accent clearly enough for Jamie to understand him (but just barely). "Will you not be going home tonight?"

"Eh – yes, well, I am," Jamie replied, bringing and hand to the back of her neck and looking around as if for the first time all night. "But I can't find Miss Perkins anywhere, have you seen her?"

Ping paused, then nodded enthusiastically. "Oh! Yes, Miss Perkins met with a businessman from New York. After tonight's performance she famous, I suppose."

"I suppose so," The blonde girl said wryly, rolling her eyes and looking away. Ping quieted awkwardly and waited for Jamie to turn back to him. "Did you see where she went?"

"With the business man."

Jamie fisted her loose yellow hair with both hands and almost yanked it out, making a weird growl-bark noise and stomping both feet. "Josephine Perkins I'll murder you!" Without another word, she allowed Ping to escort her to the nearest cab standing by the outside of the theater. 


End file.
